


The Sad Sad Life of One, Magnus Martinsson

by SpiritOfTheTimelords



Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, I don't know what I'm doing with my life, I'm so sorry, Pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritOfTheTimelords/pseuds/SpiritOfTheTimelords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin has never been graceful.... at all. </p><p>And yes. I'm writing this because there isn't enough fanfiction about this show and Martinsson. BTW this will be sad. Very sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Magnus would never say he was graceful, or even go to say that he was fairly competent in the area of balance. Needless to say, due to his lack of balance, often times he fell or simply stumbled, his long arms windmilling to keep his balance. That was the prime reason Wallander kept him at the office. The first time Magnus had gone out to a crime scene with Wallander, he had tripped over a rock, and slipped into a puddle of blood, and landed on the body, and ruined his favorite coat.  
Magnus darted a glance up at the wall clock, only two more hours until his shift ended and he could go home for a much needed rest. He shifted slightly for a more comfortable position, and just as he relaxed, he wound up on the ground next to the chair. He swore under breath as he lept to his feet, darting a glance around the office hoping no one had seen his blunder.  
Richardson, a cadet, was elbowing Mariah and telling her something with a grin, then they both turned towards Magnus, and began to giggle. Martinsson looked down at his desk, feeling his cheeks flush red, he rested his fingertips of his right hand on the desk, before turning around, grabbing his jacket and more or less fleeing the office.  
As he thudded down the stairs, his toe caught the edge of a step, and he scrambled to keep his balance, and failed. He tumbled down the stairs, limbs flailing instinctively trying to protect his head and back. He shut his eyes tightly as his body bore the accidentally inflicted abuse.  
Finally, after what seemed like ages, his body came to a halt at the foot of the stairs. He just laid there for a moment, winded and feeling the wetness of tears beginning to fill his eyes. He heard snorts of poorly concealed laughter as he stood up, feeling every single bruise and scrape he had just acquired.  
He darted a glance around gauging everyone's reactions, one rookie called out, 'Maybe next time you'll leave us a mess to clean up!'  
Magnus clenched his jaw, and quickly walked out of the police station, not caring that his shift had not ended, nor that he had left a half typed out report on his computer, that Wallander would never be able to figure out to get to. All that matter was that he had to get out of there.  
As he walked through the town, pulling his coat collar up tight around his neck against the cold breeze. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as it began to ring, he glanced at caller ID and saw it was Kurt. He decided to ignore it, and slipped it back into his pocket. He just needed to be alone.  
As Martinsson walked through the town, not really caring where he went, his mind wandered remembering various memories, all involving someone laughing at him, and him winding up physically and emotionally hurt.  
He turned down an alley way, remembering all the countless failures he had done. He remembered one time, his family had gone on a trail ride on horses, for his sisters birthday, and the brown horse he had been riding, saw a plastic bag, and took off. Magnus had held on to the horses neck, not wanting to fall beneath the horses hooves. When suddenly the horse had suddenly pivoted on its hindquarters and reared. Needless to say Magnus fell off, and those moments when he saw the horse up above him about to crash down on him, were the most terrifying in his life, but when the horses hooves came to the ground, they didn't touch him, they landed next to him with a loud thud, and then the horse was gone.  
When his parents and sister finally caught up to him on their horses, he was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. His father told him to toughen up, his mother gave him a once over before declaring him fit to get back in the saddle, and when he had done all in his power to keep from mounting the horrid beast, his sister called him a wuss.

As he slinked along, he failed to notice a dark shadow following him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to become this violent. Anyways. Here... *holds out platter with story on it*

A few minutes after Magnus's phone rang it beeped, signifying a voice mail. He sighed, fished the phone out of his pocket, and called his voice mail.  
"Listen Martinsson, I don't know what your problem is, and frankly, I don't care, but get your sorry ass back-" Magnus deleted the message before it finished. As he slipped his phone back in his pocket, he heard a noise behind him, he turned sharply, too sharply for safety. And that's probably what saved his life.  
A man, about 5'11" wearing a black ski mask and nondescript baggy clothing was behind Martinsson as Magnus turned around. In a sharp upwards motion, the man stabbed low and upward, aiming with his knife for in between Martinsson's third and fourth ribs, but due to Magnus' lack of balance, as he fell, the knife embedded itself in his shoulder, rather than in his lungs.  
Martinsson gasped in shock, as his hand instinctively went for his gun, but before he could draw it, the man had knocked him to the ground, and took his gun. As Magnus laid on the damp concrete the man loomed over him, reached for the knife in Magnus' shoulder and with a cruel laugh, twisted it free, causing Martinsson to scream in pain.  
"Oh, I like this." The man had a deep voice with a hoarseness that told everyone he smoked.  
Magnus clutched at the wound, tears overfilling his eyes due to the burning agonizing pain. The man grabbed the taller man by the neck, and forced him to stand, holding him against the brick wall of the alleyway.  
"You're going to pay for what you've done." The man sounded like he was smirking, as Martinsson desperately grasped at the man's hand, silently begging to be released.  
The man pulled back the hand the knife was in, and with two swift movements cut open Magnus' wrists, causing the young man to writhe and cry out in agony, as his blood began to pour out at an alarming rate. The man violently pushed Martinsson to the ground, and kicked him in the side, rolling him over, before straddling his torso, knife raised above the man's head.  
Martinsson knew he should be trying to do something, trying to get away, trying to stop it, but he was just so tired. His limbs had gone numb, and he just wanted to sleep, but having a man sitting on you, kinda ruined your ability to do so.  
The man with a few swipes of the knife, made vertical and horizontal stripes across Martinsson's face, and then with a maniacal laugh began to try to pop out Magnus' left eye. The man slid his knife in-between Martinsson's eyeball and eye socket, as the curly blond struggled feebly. The man wiggled the knife, tilting it slightly, forcing the eye to pull against the optic nerves.  
And then suddenly, for some unknown reason, Martinsson let out a piercing scream, Loud and high pitched, sounding almost as if it had come from a teenage girl. Which of course, got attention.  
A clearly homeless, elderly man made his way down the alleyway, when he heard the scream. He broke into run, going as fast as his old bones would allow him. When he saw the bloody sight, he let out a shout of outrage. The man with the ski mask, half way turned towards the homeless man, and with a jerk, pulled out his knife from Martinssons eye socket. He then, got up, and ran, swiftly vanishing into the streets.  
Martinsson immediately curled up on himself, feeling inexpressible pain as his life's blood pumped out of him and onto the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I'm soooo sorry. I don't know why I made this so violent. I honestly don't. Most of the time when I'm writing, I just come up with something that would make a good base for a story, or something, and I just let my fingers type, and then I go through, and read what I wrote and most of the time I'm just like "What the freak? I wrote this?" I'm going to blame my subconscious. And my nerves for telling my fingers to type this. And I'm going to shut up now.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so congrats on getting through chap 1! Please comment/fav/kudo/bookmark/whatever. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, and I am working on a chapter 2.


End file.
